


Paint Me Like Your First Caravaggio

by RueRambunctious



Series: The Professor, The Painter And The Part-Time Prostitute [2]
Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom Sebastian, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory Negotiations, Sharing, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RueRambunctious/pseuds/RueRambunctious
Summary: Sebastian has now graduated, but he still has a lot to learn about life with the Moriarty siblings, Jim and Jamie.





	1. De Facto Adults Still Get Red Bottoms

Life without studying is almost incomprehensible to Sebastian Moran after he graduates. Having been expected from a young age -indeed, from conception, as all Moran boys were- to be an officer in the British army, there was no question of Sebastian not achieving the grades to do so. Every Moran Seb had ever heard of had been an Etonian and gone on to Oxford University, so it was not enough to just get the required grades to be an officer. One had to obtain a certain level of learning to be a proper gentleman, even if Sebastian's own father (or in fairness to Augustus, his father's father) was neither intellectual nor gentle.

Sebastian likes books, and he craves gentleness, although he had been brought up not to respect anything but harshness, wealth and power. Seb has worked himself to the bone to survive in a capitalist society but ultimately cares little for wealth beyond fulfilling his needs. He does have an undeniable fetish for power and a difficult relationship with authority.

Sebastian supposes his future is now with the army. It had always been the plan to become an officer after obtaining his degree. He has never really considered other options. For all he has a short fuse and a distaste (outside of intimate relationships) for being shouted at, his undeniable need for structure and regular exercise always suggested to him that he was indeed made for army life. He took instantly to guns as a child and has always been good at most of the survival skills taught at Scouts and Cadets.

An English degree was an indulgence in his ego. Sebastian had always known it was his future to serve his country.

Since his entanglement with the Moriarty siblings Sebastian has started having _doubts_.

It is not that he no longer enjoys the training: he loves all the same things about the army that he ever has.

Seb had not counted on any emotional attachment to anyone getting in the way of plans he thought set in stone. And yet… The demon-eyed, Irish professor of Maths and Philosophy who had quite turned Sebastian's axis on its head makes no push to have Seb move on. Sebastian wonders what kept boys and sugar babies do once they are out of education. Is he a de facto adult now?

Instead of waving Sebastian off the professor and his bewitching sister Jamie Moriarty proceed to go about their lives as normal. The brunet teaches in his beguiling brogue, and does secretive things that Seb does not doubt are highly criminal, and Jamie paints, and both Moriarties take pleasure in torturing Sebastian. Seb takes pleasure in that.

He does _not_ know what to do with the extra time on his hands. Sebastian now has greater privileges to explore the large house the Professor keeps him in, and on the whole Seb manages to keep himself out of trouble.

It makes the blond uneasy. Sebastian likes to know where he stands and whilst before he was used to not getting attached he does not feel that way anymore. Seb is very much attached to his life here and the people in it – the Moriarty siblings in particular.

The thought of being cast out when the pair tire of him frightens Sebastian immensely. There are not many things in this world that scare Sebastian Moran but the loss of the Moriarties does. He has never felt so able to be himself before. He has never felt so understood, accommodated, comforted and satisfied. Seb has also never had sex that could compete in being at all so emotionally, physically and mentally satiating. 

Sebastian is a nervous wreck trying to stay welcome and unnoticed. He is terribly fearful of drawing attention to himself and the fact that he still remains after the end of their agreement for Seb to be Professor Moriarty's plaything until Sebastian finished his schooling.

Sebastian is anxious and miserable, and being taken to bed by either of the Moriarties only emphasises to him how much pleasure he will be bereft of when he loses them.

Of course, Seb does not do well with this sort of pressure. Which is why he finds himself standing for a disturbingly indeterminate length of time before a portrait painted of himself by Jamie. She has painted several portraits of him during their time together and each of them remind Seb starkly of what a charmed life he has here as the lone Moriarty pet.

Sebastian cannot bear it. He fears so strongly the loss of everything that Jamie's collection of portraits celebrates that the sight makes his eyes prickle with tears. The loss is inevitable and coming swiftly; he knows that and cannot cope with the knowledge.

Sebastian desperately wishes this were not the case, but he knows he cannot change that. He must change his heart instead. He must stop this approaching heartbreak from ever hurting.

Sebastian picks up a knife Jamie has been using to distribute paint to one of her many palettes. The cutlery is not as cold as metal should be: the layers of mismatched acrylic mask the chill.

Sebastian moves towards the nearest portrait of himself feeling deep waves of frustration and pain and frightened anger. It is the portrait Jamie made before her brother and she both took their turns with him for the first time. He looks frantic and vulnerable and a little too openly in love for comfortable viewing.

He cannot destroy the painting despite his internal screaming instincts to do so. Sebastian lets out a huge noise of distress and pushes at an assortment of Jamie's paints instead.

The pressure bursts some metal tubes and the lids fly off of plastic jars on impact. Paint grazes Sebastian's toes and splatters the floor. Not just the paint-spattered former bedlinens protecting the floor, but the intricate parquet flooring itself in all its antique glory.

Seb chokes and almost really cries then. He drops to his knees and tries to clean up after his petulant mistake, but garish colours are already now engrained in the slats between the varnished wood. Sebastian daubs a tiny amount of strong-smelling white spirit onto a rag (he is fearful of ruining Jamie's expensive, small brushes too) and tries his best to undo his awful actions.

It is not enough, and the blond is fearful of damaging the lacquer. Seb gives up his hopeless endeavour and hurries back to his room. Professor Moriarty's room. Thankfully the small paint flecks on Sebastian have dried and do not mark the corridor floors.

Sebastian looks up at the ceiling feeling his cheeks hot and a little wet and tries to calm himself.

He's gone and done it now. They're going to ask him to leave and it's all going to be his fault for being so bloody stupid.

Sebastian sniffles.

Then he freezes. His heart pounds in his ears as he hears Professor Moriarty's approaching tread.

“Seb! I'm home, young man; are you upstairs?”

Sebastian feels miserable panic and feels his tears trade themselves for sweat. He desperately hopes Moriarty won't look in through the bedroom door.

Of course the dark-haired devil does. “Little boy?” Moriarty says, sounding bemused, “I was calling you. Didn't you hear?”

Sebastian swallows hard and knows there is no way to hide his appearance. He turns around slowly.

Moriarty blinks then raises his eyebrows. “Well, my little darling, _you_ look guilty as sin.”

Sebastian flushes and rapidly flutters his eyelashes to try to see past his threatening tears. “I didn't mean to!” he blurts. “I'm really, really sorry.”

The Irishman gives him a look somewhere between puzzled and darkly amused. Moriarty's sharp gaze picks out the small dots of paint on Seb's clothing. The man tuts. “Someone's been naughty today I see.”

Sebastian takes a deep breath and almost hiccups. “I-”

“Shh,” the professor says. “Looks like it's not my problem.”

Sebastian feels his heart turn to ice.

Moriarty frowns and does not understand why his mixed race lover's skin suddenly turns a sickly, starkly pale offwhite. “Little one, are you having another panic attack?”

Sebastian shakes his head quickly, although he thinks he might be starting to. “N-No sir.”

Moriarty flashes Seb a disbelieving look and steps closer. Sebastian flinches.

“Jesus Christ,” the professor mutters. “Relax and come here.”

Sebastian watches in confusion as the older man bypasses him and walks towards the bed. Moriarty fishes out Seb's pyjamas.

“Come here, little one,” says Moriarty.

Sebastian's breathing wobbles and he shuffles over warily.

“Whatever you've done, Jamie's not home yet, so you've got some time before you catch it for your evident naughtiness,” the professor says. He pulls Seb closer carefully and starts unbuttoning the blond's shirt.

Sebastian stands meekly and allows himself to be undressed. His hands exposed shows more paint that he picked up whilst trying to clean and could not fully scrub away with white spirits. Moriarty takes a firm grip of the younger man's hip. “Not like you not to give me your theatrics,” the professor comments.

Seb casts his gaze aside and leans unhappily into the contact. He is going to deeply miss being touched like this. By him. “I don't always have to be a brat,” Sebastian whispers.

The Irish devil fixes Seb with a look. “I've always known you to be a brat. If it bothered me terribly I would find a less mutually enjoyable way to deter you.”

Sebastian chews his lower lip dubiously. “You don't hate it?”

Professor Moriarty looks startled. “Certainly not. I enjoy having someone spirited and amusing in my bed. Now let me get these on you before you catch cold.”

Sebastian allows himself to be dressed in his soft pyjamas but his mind is elsewhere. Moriarty had met his eyes like he had no idea of Seb's concerns, but Sebastian cannot afford to believe he is settled. The pain of everything he stands to lose is too great to be complacent.

Moriarty pats Seb's bottom and the blond meets his dark eyes intently. “You've got fifteen minutes,” says the Irishman. “I'll hold you and you can gather your thoughts, but then we are getting up and going about our business. I cannot spend all day in bed with you everyday or England will grind to a halt.”

“The whole of England?” Sebastian mumbles.

“You have no idea,” Moriarty mutters, but he pushes the muscular young man onto the bed before Seb can reply.

The dark-haired professor feels warm and real against Sebastian and Seb laments that he will never be able to imagine this so vividly. Moriarty trails his fingertips lightly over the back of Sebastian's scalp and the blond shivers.

“Do you need to tell me what's the matter or do you just want a cuddle?” Moriarty asks.

Sebastian blinks. He still isn't used to the intimidating, intense professor offering this sort of comfort. Seb is also reluctant to talk and hear his problem out loud. He fears that making it real will make the fear even more painful.

Sebastian shakes his head. Moriarty pulls him close anyway. “I am intrigued what you could possibly have done to put yourself in this mood,” says the Irishman.

“I don't mean to be moody,” apologises Seb.

“You're not; you're fretting,” says Professor Moriarty. “It's not like you to worry this much. Jamie won't give you any more than you deserve you know.”

Sebastian is quiet and burrows down further under the duvet. He leans away from Moriarty as he does so but not out of any lack of affection.

Moriarty sits up on his elbows and looks at Sebastian. “Has someone upset you? What is the matter?”

Sebastian bites his tongue and feels the corners of his eyes welling up again. He doesn't know what to say. Being a fresh English graduate does not seem to have earned him any particular mastery over forcing words from his mouth.

“That does it,” says the professor. Sebastian cringes as Moriarty sits up. “I'm phoning Jamie,” he says, and he does.

Seb feels his belly drop in response. He wants to give Moriarty a pleading look but knows he does not deserve it.

“Jamie seems as oblivious as I feel,” the Irishman declares eventually. “She's on her way.”

Sebastian still says nothing. His tummy twists tightly and his words feel strangled. He rests his head against Moriarty. It might be the last time he gets the chance.

Moriarty frowns and combs Seb's short curls with his fingers. “You're mine,” the devil says.

Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut and clings a little tighter.

A tiny fraction of Jamie's smugly unflappable demeanour is chipped from her movements when she arrives. She frowns like her brother and fusses with her wrists tersely. “Basher, darling, you had better have a satisfactory excuse for bringing me home early and worrying my brother. Whatever is the matter? I hear that you've been naughty.”

Sebastian reluctantly pulls himself up to gaze at Jamie sadly. He had been naughty because he wanted to be corrected and shown that he still _mattered_ but now he is merely desperate for reassurance. Fearful that he has brought everything he fears down upon his head, he tries to sniffle quietly.

Jamie crosses over to the bed. “Oh no you don't; crying happens _after_ I box your ears. Now don't you _dare_ ignore me; you had better tell me at once what you've done.”

Sebastian swallows. Everything gone in a sweep of his arms. He takes a deep breath and dully admits, “I made a mess. Huge one. In your studio. I was being a stupid child. I tried to clean it up, but...”

The Moriarty siblings raise their brows in an identical manner and exchange glances.

“That's all?” Moriarty asks.

“That's all?” Jamie repeats incredulously. “ _I was negotiating a deal with_ -” She stops herself and pinches the bridge of her nose, then holds up her pointer finger. “No, _no_. I did not just walk out of a six point five million dollar deal just because you knocked over one of my paintings. What were you even doing in my studio anyway?”

Sebastian chokes. Ignoring the question, he focuses on the fact that the Moriarties are apparently rich enough to walk out of multi million dollar deals. “Why would you do that?” he splutters. “For… I mean I'm...”

“Do what?” Jamie asks shortly. “It's only money, and I _thought_ you were in some sort of need.” She sits down crisply on the bed, not directing her full glare at anyone. “I can always make more money.”

Sebastian is subdued. “It was only a tantrum. I… um...” He won't have more. He'll be gone. _Six point five million dollars_. What even is that in real money?

“Sebastian,” Jamie begins quietly, “did you damage my Caravaggio?”

Seb sits up sharply. “What? No! I would never-”

Jamie looks at him directly and it takes the young man's breath away. She asks firmly, “Then what could you possibly have done to upset you so much that my brother phoned me and got me to come home?”

Sebastian cringes. How much is intricate period flooring? It's a big room, but he doubts he's destroyed six million dollars' worth. “I… can't get some stains out of the floor.”

Jamie raises her shaped brows and takes a deep breath to launch into a blatant rollocking, but her brother pulls Seb forcefully against him and stings the seat of Sebastian's soft pyjamas. “Are you saying you had me – had _us_ \- worried sick over a fucking _floor_?”

Sebastian gasps at the pain but pushes his face into the comforting solidness of the Irish devil's body. Moriarty's suit smells of detergent and a little of gunfire and small buttons leave indentations on Seb's cheek.

' _Worried sick_.'

Sebastian does not know how to feel.

Moriarty gives both of Seb's thighs a painful smack each. “I _asked_ you a question, little boy!”

Sebastian grunts as he tries to bite down on a whimper.

Jamie pulls him away from her brother's chest by the shell of Seb's ear. “Are these painted on?” she demands. “You had better explain yourself this instant Basher Moran...”

Sebastian winces as the beautiful woman twists his ear. “I don't… I don't _have_ an answer!” he protests.

Moriarty sighs. “Give him back here,” he says to his sister. Jamie lets go of Seb's ear but gives the side of the young man's leg a sharp slap for good measure.

“Now you look at me, I said _look at me_ , Se- _bast-_ ian!” Moriarty orders. Sebastian obeys reluctantly. “This isn't like you,” the professor says quietly. “Normally if you make a mistake we talk about it, maybe punish you, and you're back to your cheeky, bouncy self in hours. This can't be just about some paint on the floors, so what _is_ this about?”

Sebastian wonders whether it is a good or bad thing that the hypnotising devil can always read his thoughts. “I don't want to talk about it,” Seb whispers.

Jamie runs her hand along his back where there are scars under his pyjama jacket. “Is that what this has been?” she asks without her usual full dose of derision in her haughty voice, “a trigger?”

Sebastian considers agreeing. It would be so much easier.

Moriarty grabs his jaw. “Oh no, Se- _bast-_ ian; I can see the lie forming on your face! If this isn't just daddy issues then what is it?”

Sebastian tries to look away, but that only makes him face Jamie instead. He sighs and takes a deep breath. “I'm just… I...”

Jamie puts her hand on his blond scalp with unusually gentle affection. She prompts, “Am feeling upset because..?”

Sebastian shakes his head. He doesn't want to say it. The instant he says it everything comes crashing down even further than he has already pushed it. Tears break past his rapidly blinking eyelids and splash down his cheeks. Seb feels a hot wave of shame and loneliness.

“Fine,” Jamie says. It sounds a little like a threat. Sebastian flinches a tad as she pulls away, and stares at her through confused, blurry eyes as she crosses around to the other side of the bed.

Jamie kicks off her heels with a disregard that belies the fact that they cost more than a year of Sebastian's Oxford fees. “If you don't want to talk to your Daddy or I about your problems, then you are grounded and we shall tuck you in for an early night.”

To Sebastian's surprise the Irishman at his back makes a noise of assent and nudges Sebastian into the middle of the bed. “Jamie's quite right,” Moriarty says. “If you can't be honest with us, little boy, then you are grounded for a _month_. You know what that means.”

Sebastian sits up and looks at the siblings in confusion. A month? A month without any orgasms, and… “You want me to stay for a _month_?” he blurts.

Moriarty and Jamie exchange puzzled glances. “Did you fry all of your braincells with your dissertation?” Jamie scoffs. “We don't mean you have to stay in the bed for a month.”

Moriarty smirks. “Although if you don't want to speak there are plenty of things we can find to do with your darling, pretty mouth for a month...”

“I'm not _stupid_ ,” Sebastian protests. “I...” He rubs at his face and tries to organise his thoughts. “A whole month?” he bleats. “I've still got a whole month...”

Jamie reaches for Seb's jacket and pulls him down against the pillows. “Basher, petal, if you don't want to be grounded for so long then you are going to have to be a big boy and tell us what's wrong.”

“I don't care if I'm grounded,” Sebastian responds.

The gorgeous blonde's eyebrows raise. “If you're giving attitude, baby boy, you're going to find yourself being given something to cry about.”

“I don't care if you both hurt me either,” says Sebastian, “just as long as you keep me for the month. You've promised.”

Jamie makes a face at her brother and Professor Moriarty twists Seb around. “Se- _bast-_ ian, where do you think you are going? This is your home this month and every other month.”

Sebastian is rocked forward by a sob he only just manages to contain. He doesn't want to protest at all but he has to be sure so he gasps, “But I've graduated...”

“So what?” replies Moriarty. “You lost a lot of fitness in the last few weeks of your degree and the next intake for training isn't for a while, so… where the fuck do you think you'd be going?”

Sebastian takes a deep breath and looks at both of them. “You're not kicking me out?”

Both siblings crash on top of Sebastian's large form. “Why the _fuck_ would you think that? _Christ!_ ” the professor spits at the exact moment Jamie exclaims, “You _stupid_ little boy! Of course not!”

It is kind of difficult to pick out the jumble of words but Sebastian can ascertain the jist from the way he is being squished by two ordinarily composed grown adults.

“Why would you think we were only keeping you until you graduated, you bloody fool?” Moriarty demands.

Sebastian swallows. “The deal was only-”

“A fucking deal? You think I let you sleep in my own damn bed and fuck my sister because we made a _deal_?” Moriarty bellows. He sits up and massages his temples from the edge of the bed. “Jamie, I'm going to kill him.” The professor suddenly twists around. “I'm going to kill you, Sebby, in our fucking bed I'm going to kill you!”

But he does not move.

Sebastian swallows. There is an odd feeling in his stomach and he doesn't want to examine it too closely when it feels like his ribs are actually expanding with relief. Seb's lips twitch in the brunet's direction. “You told me that language is vulgar, Jim, and you'd soap my mouth if I spoke to you that way.”

The Irish devil blinks so quickly Jamie thinks her brother is about to have an apoplectic fit. “Do you think you are being _funny_ right now, Seb...ast...i..an..?”

Seb shrugs only a little nervously. “I'm feeling pretty good right now, sir.”

Moriarty snorts. “Oh, that does it.” He alarms Sebastian by stalking from the room.

Jamie chuckles, her blonde waves fanned out across three pillows. “You've done it now, Basher,” she says, giving Seb a sidelong look. She sounds as amused as she looks.

Sebastian's tummy clenches.

Professor Moriarty returns. He is carrying a hairbrush that his sister his threatened Seb with often over their time together.

Sebastian's smile immediately shrinks a little.

The woman beside him chortles unkindly and gives the growing part of him a squeeze before she sits up. “Going through my things now, are you?”

The Irishman's nostrils flare. “I'm too mad to hit him. I'm going to need you to thrash him, Jamie.”

Sebastian cringes into the bed. The back of the brush is thick and scary-looking.

Jamie waves her fingers. “I'll happily take a crack at him, Jimmy.”

Sebastian swallows and edges closer to the headboard as the professor hands Jamie her brush. “Don't we think this is overreacting a bit?” he asks nervously.

“Oh, _we_ think things through together again, do _we_?” mocks Moriarty. “Get those panties down or I'll take them off for you.”

“I'm not _wearing_ panties,” Seb mumbles as he reluctantly reaches for the waistbands of his pyjamas and his boxers together.

“You're not going to be _wearing_ skin on that lovely arse of yours if you ever think up something so stupid again,” Moriarty retorts. “Is that clear?”

“As crystal, Daddy,” Sebastian says quietly. The response helps the professor breathe a bit. The little brat always calls him 'Daddy' when he's in trouble and wants some leniency. It had been disconcerting when Sebastian seemed to insist on keeping an emotional arm's length between them earlier.

Jamie swats Seb lightly with her open palm. It doesn't hurt. “Didn't you just get told to get your bottom bared, young man?”

“Yes, miss,” says Sebastian swiftly. He breathes out quickly as Jamie reaches for his clothing and yanks down. His arousal catches in the cotton and elastic making him whimper.

Jamie's smile widens sadistically but otherwise she makes no reaction. She flips Sebastian over with a strength that is only surprising if one judges her body over her spirit.

She brings the hairbrush down hard on Seb's unprotected bottom and he immediately cries out in pain and embarrassment.

“That hurts!” he winces, twisting around to give Jamie a pout over his shoulder.

“And this'll hurt too,” responds the American, spanking both his cheeks and his thighs smartly in speedy succession.

Sebastian yelps and groans and kicks. To think, he was upset about losing these people. He is creating a wet patch on the sheet beneath him.

“You do not escape from us easily,” Jamie lectures. “And you can be a _smart_ boy; you just got your degree with _merits_ , Basher. You - shouldn't – have – been – so – stupid.”

Sebastian bites his lip. “Am I worth six million?”

Jamie sits back and slaps his sit spot with her naked palm. “Yes. Yes, you're worth some pocket change, you foolish little child.”

Seb feels a warmth in his chest and his stomach. He cannot help but rock his hips. “You both want me?”

Professor Moriarty flips Sebastian onto his broad back and snatches up the blond's arousal. “What part of no cumming for being so naughty do you not _understand_ , little boy?”

Seb gasps and bucks a little in Moriarty's tight fist. “You didn't say no teasing.”

Jamie grins and hands her brother her hairbrush. “Care to borrow this?”

“Thank you,” Moriarty says shortly. He gets comfortable and drops Seb's hardon -it stands upright then of its own accord- just to throw Sebastian's strong thighs against the brat's chest. Moriarty spanks the young man firmly enough that Seb understands the punishment is not purely playful. “You belong to us,” the professor says fiercely, “and no little Oxford degree or even a British army uniform can change that.”

Sebastian's eyes water and it's not from the painful red ovals decorating his glutes and thighs. “Promise?”

“Course I _fucking_ promise,” Jim whispers. “And you're still grounded! For _ten_ months!”

“Don't even mind,” Seb pants.

Jamie giggle unkindly. “Don't tell him tha-at...” she sing-songs mockingly.

Moriarty tuts. “Now look at that. My uncaring sister is having to give you life advice. You see how low you've sunk?”

Sebastian's eyes glint. “Sir, if you want me to _go down_ , you only have to ask.”

“Do you kiss your Daddy with that mouth?” Moriarty growls.

Seb grins. “When I'm lucky, Jim.”


	2. I'm Afraid Of The Unsaid

Sebastian reluctantly opens his eyes. He can feel Professor Moriarty pulling away from him, leaving a cold space in their shared bed and a distinct lack of physical contact. The younger man feels a stirring of regret.

Before Seb can mourn this loss too deeply Moriarty reaches out and pets Sebastian's warm scalp. The curls the blond had been sleeping on are squashed close to Seb's head, whilst others stick up at rampant angles. The professor toys with those briefly. The touch is affectionate, and clearly meant to soothe.

“Shh,” Moriarty says. “Go back to sleep, little one.”

Sebastian pushes his skull up into the Irishman's fingers. Not quite daring to say, 'Don't go,' Seb instead makes a soft, little whine of protest in his throat.

“Daddy's got work to do, pet,” Professor Moriarty declares. “You can stay in bed for a little while where it's lovely and cozy, yes?”

Seb juts his lower lip out and hopes he looks appropriately disappointed. “You don't want to _bed_ me first? I'll let you have a quickie,” the blond barters. He tugs at his pyjamas, displaying smooth, tan flesh.

Moriarty snorts. “Little tart,” he says fondly. “You're grounded, remember?”

Sebastian's tummy tingles a little. “You said _I'm_ not allowed to cum; you didn't say you weren't going to f-”

“Sebastian Moran, do you get to use that caliber of language with your Daddy, young man?” Moriarty asks. The Professor's tone is both stern and scandalised, but the curl of his lips is playful. 

Dark eyes glint down at Seb as the blond squirms. Before Sebastian can come up with a response, Professor Moriarty has grabbed his broad shoulder and flipped the younger man onto his stomach. Seb bites his lower lip hopefully as he feels Jim reach for his waistband.

Sebastian yelps softly as Moriarty's palm cracks down upon his bottom so quickly Seb barely has time to feel the chill of having it bared.

“Ow...” the blond whines. He pushes his bottom higher into the air.

Professor Moriarty chuckles. He cups one of Seb's cheeks in his hand and circles it firmly with his thumb, putting pressure on the marks left there earlier. Sebastian is not often spanked harshly enough to leave lasting bruises, but the silly brat had a lesson to learn last night.

“Were your Auntie Jamie and I not _quite transparent_ on what the consequences of your poor behaviour shall be, Se- _bast_ -ian?” Moriarty asks.

Sebastian sighs. “You said you'd spank me with the brush. E...every day until I learn my lesson. But I was _trying_ to be good!”

Professor Moriarty curls his lips. His voice is amused. “Asking your Daddy to fuck you in your pretty little hole isn't being a good boy, is it?”

Sebastian pouts. “I didn't say you had to use my fuckhole...”

“Who. Taught. You. Language. Like. That?” the dark-eyed Irishman exclaims loudly. His gaze sparkles as he peppers Seb's bare bottom with stinging, little smacks.

“If you fuck my mouth I won't be able to say bad words,” Sebastian mutters unrepentantly. “Please, Daddy.”

“Filthy little boy,” Moriarty scolds without venom. “Do I need to take you into the shower with me to wash your mouth out?”

Sebastian looks over his shoulder openly, the playfulness dropping from his eyes. “You can have me anywhere you want me, Sir; you know that.”

The professor stares at him for a beat then nods. “Shower, pet.”

Sebastian feels a rush of excitement, but there's also a flood of warmth in his chest that he does not dare examine too closely. He throws back the duvet and follows the brunet into the en suite.

Moriarty is already reaching for the shower controls but he turns as Seb lopes in. Sebastian has seen many men look at him with desire and downright hunger but Moriarty's dark gaze is like nothing Seb has ever known before. There's an aura of peril around the professor that never truly fades, but in this moment Moriarty's face is lit with an expression Sebastian cannot quite place.

It makes Sebastian's gut clench and flutter all at once.

Moriarty walks away from the shower and tugs Sebastian close. For such a small man (in comparison to Seb's eyecatching build) it comes as a thrill that Professor Moriarty always seems quite capable of manipulating Sebastian into any position the Irishman chooses.

Moriarty strips Seb of his pyjamas. His hands are colder than Sebastian's core temperature, presumably having been out of the bed for much longer (probably conducting business on a mobile phone for hours whilst Seb slept obliviously) and the brunet's pale skin is beaded with lukewarm water from the shower that is only starting to heat up. Sebastian leans into the touch and keens softly in appreciation as Professor Moriarty chooses to pet his stomach. Seb doesn't know why, but the Irish devil's palms pressing lightly over his abdominal muscles makes him bite his lip and wriggle his tan toes.

“Spoiled little lap dog,” Moriarty lilts.

“I'm not _little_ ,” Sebastian retorts wryly. He ducks his head to press his jaw against the professor's cheekbone.

Moriarty scratches his manicured nails down the purple scars on Sebastian's belly in a way that makes the rush of blood beneath pulse enticingly. “No,” the Irishman agrees, “you're a big, dumb animal, aren't you?”

Sebastian all but purrs at the petting. “I'm anything you want me to be, sir.”

Moriarty eyes the bigger man's striped stomach and smiles, reaching up to grasp Seb's chin and hold their faces close. “Perhaps I'll get you a golden leash. That would look quite fetching on a tiger; don't you think?”

Sebastian twitches beneath the naval and grins shyly. “Rawr.”

The professor grips Seb's strong jaw. “We're going to have to do something about those whiskers,” he muses. He lets go and pats Sebastian's cheek. “But not this morning. You're going to make me late.”

Sebastian grins and risks reaching for Moriarty's silk sleep-trousers. “I'm already grounded, so what are you going to do about it?”

“Do you want to wake up with both of your kidneys still intact tomorrow?” the professor asks with a cool look. Seb feels a shiver of trepidation, loves it, and feels triumphant as Moriarty strips.

“Get in the shower, brat,” the dark-eyed man growls lightly. He nudges Sebastian towards the warm water with a well-aimed spank that barely hurts but makes a deliciously exciting noise over the sound of the shower's spray.

“Want me to wash your back, sir?” Sebastian asks. He draws out his polished vowels in a way he's sure sounds debauched and seductive.

“Oh, no; I'm going to occupy that fool mouth of yours,” Moriarty says. If his rich voice didn't already make Seb's knees quiver, the self-assured way the professor grabs Sebastian and pushes him down onto the wet tiles is enough to make Seb's heart pound.

Professor Moriarty steps close in the confined space and reaches for Sebastian's head. He tugs the curls again, stretching them out long enough to expose their darker roots and turning the dry tips a murky honey colour as they get wet.

“The moment you wake up all you do is run your mouth...” Moriarty drawls.

Sebastian's blue eyes smile up at the older man. “Maybe you should teach me some manners, Daddy.”

Moriarty grips Seb's scalp firmly and pulls it to the side. Bowing close to Sebastian's ear, the brunet responds, “Maybe I should hire you a nanny so I can get some work done, and put a dummy in your quick mouth so no one has to hear your drivel. Maybe I should just cut out your tongue.”

Sebastian is uncertain whether he likes the threat of humiliation or physical violence more. He licks his lips and leans up on his knees eagerly. “Please, won't you give me something to suck on?”

Moriarty scoffs and runs his free hand over Seb's thick lips, probing them with a possessive nonchalance. “Don't I spoil you enough already?”

Sebastian kisses the paler man's fingers. “You can spank me once you've fucked my mouth, if you like. I'll even bring your belt.”

The professor yanks Seb's skull. “What have I told you about that bad language, little boy? Do I need to wash your mouth out?”

Sebastian strains against the grip to be closer to the older man's groin. “Maybe you could punish my mouth with this?”

Professor Moriarty smears his tip teasingly against Sebastian's parted lips. The liquid there feels thicker than the beads of water dripping down their skin. “I don't think you'd find it much of a punishment, little one.”

Seb tries to catch Moriarty in his mouth but is kept frustratingly just out of reach. “Well there's no point being a martyr now I've made you late for work,” Sebastian murmurs. “You might as well cum in my mouth.”

“Is that any way to talk to your Daddy?” the professor purrs.

“Does it make you hard when I talk dirty to you, sir?” Sebastian asks softly. “Does it make you want to fuck my dirty, naughty mouth and cum right down my throat to teach me a lesson?”

“Seb- _ast_ -ian...” Moriarty warns.

“Please, Daddy, won't you let me suck your cum from your lovely, big dick?” Seb pleads. “I want you to fill up my whole mouth with-”

Professor Moriarty pulls Sebastian's head close enough to suddenly push his red tip between Seb's redder lips. “Shh,” Moriarty orders. “That is entirely inappropriate language, young man.”

Sebastian wraps a large hand around the older man's length and pulls back freely to affectionately lick Professor Moriarty's flushed glans. The skin is smooth, and warm and wet and makes Sebastian grin around it.

Moriarty makes a soft, little noise of discomposure. It gives Sebastian a surge of self-satisfaction.

“I'm going to give your bare bottom a hard smack tonight for _every_ minute I'm late this morning,” the professor says huskily.

“Do you promise?” Seb asks with a wide smile.

The Irishman rocks a little on his feet, either trying to keep his composure or trying not to choke Sebastian despite the evident desire to buck those pale hips. “I'm going to make you squirm,” Moriarty growls.

Sebastian swirls his tongue around the sensitive head of Moriarty's cock then pulls back with another cheeky smile. “Are you? I think I could make you beg me for this, Daddy...”

Professor Moriarty's eyebrows rise in genuine surprise. He pulls Seb's curls _just_ enough to be uncomfortable and snarls, “Let's get one thing clear, Sebby: you are my _fucktoy_ , little boy, and I do not _beg_ anyone, _ever_.”

Sebastian shivers. His grip slackens then tightens around Moriarty. “Call me that again,” the blond says.

Moriarty casts him a heated look. “Fucktoy? You want me to call you my _fuck… toy..._ young man?”

Seb closes his eyes with a groan and nods. He leans forward to lick Moriarty with the flat of his tongue. “Please, sir.”

The professor slides both hands over Sebastian to cup the younger man's scalp in a firm but gentle manner. Seb looks back up and blinks owlishly.

“Does my fucktoy want me to be rough with his pretty little mouth?” Professor Moriarty asks in his breathtaking accent.

Sebastian nods enthusiastically. “Oh, please, Daddy, I'll be so goo- umph...”

The Irishman fills Seb's mouth with just enough force to steal Sebastian's words but not quite so much as to truly choke the young man.

“I'm going to be so late for work,” the professor scolds, snapping his hips. “You're an insatiable, greedy, little boy.”

Seb tries to nod. His mouth is so full that saliva collects at the corners of his mouth. He sloppily does his best to arch his throat and please his Irishman.

Moriarty snaps his hips sharply, hissing at the hot heat of Sebastian's mouth. Seb shifts on the wet tiles, the water level rising at their feet as he covers the drain, and leans up to take more. Moriarty makes a breathy noise as he feels himself hit the back of Seb's throat and slows with superhuman effort. Hips rolling shakily, the professor pushes at Seb's forehead to allow him to lock gazes with Sebastian. The blue eyes are watering a little, but full of adoration and confusion.

“Little one, you're going to choke. You don't have to take it all,” the professor says.

Sebastian frowns. “I like it,” he argues, and pulls away at once to latch himself back onto his partner.

Professor Moriarty breathes raggedly and enjoys the sensation for a few repetitions before he yanks Seb away again. “Sebastian Moran...” the Irishman warns.

Seb looks up with faux innocence and does something with his hand that makes the brunet want to spank and fuck the brat all at once. Curling a wet palm around the sodden curls at the back of Seb's crown, Moriarty pushes Sebastian back against the wet tiles of the wall. Seb gasps at the cold and his loss of footing splashes them both.

Moriarty keeps Sebastian's vulnerable skull cradled and presses closer. “ _I_ am in charge,” the Irishman says. “Of you, of the pace, of my pleasure… everything.”

Sebastian wipes at a line of precum dribbling down his chin and eyes the wet dick near his face needfully. “Yes, Daddy...”

“I'm going to fuck your throat nice and slow, and you're going to tap my thigh if it feels too much, alright?” the captivating devil declares.

“You're going to be late,” Sebastian says, but then he grabs the smaller mans hips and drags Moriarty close.

“You're going to be sleeping on your tummy tonight,” the professor retorts, but then he pushes past Seb's lips again and Sebastian moans delightedly.

“My sweet little fucktoy,” the professor whispers. “It's the only time you're a good boy for me, isn't it? When you're prettily taking Daddy's cock?”

Sebastian groans and hums something like agreement. He grabs Moriarty's buttocks with his large hands using such force the professor has to throw out a palm against the wall. It rings out like a smack.

“Careful...” the professor warns breathlessly.

Sebastian lets out a whine and sucks enthusiastically.

Moriarty shivers and breathes out slowly. He reaches back for one of Seb's hands and places it against the wall.

“It would be a waste of my time washing your naughty little mouth out, don't you think?” Moriarty asks shakily.

Sebastian looks up in question.

Professor Moriarty meets those eyes and stares back captivatingly as he fucks Seb's mouth hard for several thrusts and then pulls back sharply.

Hot liquid -much hotter than the shower spray- coats Sebastian's face. The blond blinks and meets dark eyes as the professor shudders above him. “Thank you, Jim.”

Moriarty winks and reaches for the soap. Lathering himself swiftly, the Irishman dips down to kiss Sebastian's dripping forehead. “Did I just fuck some manners into you, little one?”

Sebastian laughs. It is a warm, open sound and it frightens him a little in its sincerity. “Maybe we should make a habit of this,” Seb answers, rolling his jaw around until it feels normal again.

“Maybe we shall, tiger,” the professor says. He rinses off haphazardly and grabs Seb's chin for another kiss. “If I can smell myself on my face afterwards you're going to be in trouble tonight.”

Sebastian chuckles weakly. “If you can't, can we do this again?”

“I'm not calling in sick just so I can bugger you senseless,” Professor Moriarty scoffs. He pulls back, exiting the shower space, and pads -dripping- over to the sink.

“Wait, was that an option?” Sebastian asks. He leans his head out of the shower.

Moriarty smirks as he brushes his teeth.

“I hate you, why didn't you bugger me?” Seb whines.

The professor reaches over to scoldingly tap Sebastian's nose. Taking his toothbrush from his mouth, Moriarty chides, “Don't speak to me like that, young man…”

“Or what, you won't bugger me?” Sebastian grumbles softly.

Professor Moriarty shakes his head and runs his toothbrush under the tap to rinse it. He almost knocks over his dental floss as he swings a wagging finger in Seb's direction. “I've spoiled you,” Moriarty declares.

Sebastian lazily moves his legs allowing the rising pool of water around them to drain. “Yes.”

Moriarty stands for a beat, naked, then, putting his toothbrush aside, cocks his head at the blond in his shower. “You're quite comfortable, aren't you?”

Sebastian knows the devil does not mean in the shower. Flat stomach knotting, tan shoulders shrug.

The professor's expression is unreadable. He reaches for a towel and swings it around himself. “I need to get dressed.”

Seb feels an uncomfortable squirminess inside. He doesn't want to rinse the thick, white liquid – already diluted- from his skin, but he stands and runs a hand over his face. Water sloshes over the side of the marble shower base.

Sebastian switches off the shower and reaches for a towel of his own. He follows the brunet out into the bedroom they share. “Are you cross?” Seb asks warily.

Dark eyes stare at him. Hard. “No.”

“Did I do something wrong, Daddy? Um… sir… um...” Sebastian stumbles. Should he not..?

“Baby.” Moriarty pulls his second arm into his shirt and walks towards the blond. “Hush, don't fret. Daddy's not cross with you. I promise.”

“Then what did I do wrong?” Sebastian asks.

The professor purses his lips. “Nothing at all, little one. Relax and fetch Daddy his shoes.”

Sebastian chews his lip skeptically but does as bid. The professor dresses swiftly.

Seb is surprised and gratified when Moriarty snatches his wrist and pulls him close for a kiss. “Stop fretting,” the Irishman repeats.

“Yes sir,” says Sebastian, although he still feels peculiar.

“Clean pyjamas on and down for breakfast,” Professor Moriarty directs. “You're still grounded, and no playing with yourself unless Jamie says so.”

“When will you be home?” Seb asks mildly.

“In plenty of time to give you a buggering before bedtime,” Moriarty declares. “Now I really must go, tiger. Be good.”

Sebastian smiles weakly. “Yes, sir.”

The brunet gives him a mildly concerned look but nods once and strides off briskly. Sebastian wraps a towel around his naval and goes out to the corridor to watch the professor rush down the stairs.

Afterward Sebastian feels oddly flat. He drags his feet back to the bedroom trying to ignore rising feelings of disappointment and anxiety.

He's catching feelings for Professor Moriarty. It makes Sebastian's heart pound in his chest and the blond feels a chill that makes him wrap his towel tighter around himself.

This is a foolish idea, and perhaps Jim Moriarty knows it. Those _looks_ before… alarmed and knowing and unreadable and _frightening_ … they make Seb feel sick even now.

It is one thing to invite your fuck toy to sleep over indefinitely. It is quite another to permanently share your bed with a young sex-worker slash unemployed graduate who is infatuated with you.

Sebastian feels woefully stupid.

He pads over for an outfit to ease the chill in his skin as though it can do anything for the cold feeling low in his tummy. The pyjamas Professor Moriarty had indicated are much more childish than Sebastian's usual flannel. Seb stares at them numbly. The juvenile design is surely a deliberate part of his grounding, but the embarrassed heat that brings to Seb's stomach is enbittered by the blond's fresh fears.

Sebastian dresses and morosely clears the sleepwear on the bathroom floor into the laundry hamper. He avoids his reflection as he brushes his teeth and wonders how long it might take anyone to fetch him if he skips breakfast.

Dragoslav enters the bedroom with one of the chambermaids and starts stripping the bed. He notices Sebastian hovering and snaps his fingers at the blond.

“If you is wanting to eat, best be going for breakfast,” Drago says.

Sebastian bites his lip. “Not hungry,” he mumbles.

“Miss Jamie is waiting for you,” the Serbian man cautions.

Sebastian nods slowly. He's sure he should feel more embarrassed about the woman he hasn't met before – and indeed Dragoslav- seeing him in such an infantile outfit, but Seb cannot bring himself to respond. His hands are trembling a little.

Drago frowns and leaves the bed. Approaching with a no-nonsense stride, the servant asks, “You are sick?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “I'm fine. Sorry, it… I'm fine.”

The older man gives him a highly skeptical look. “You are not looking 'fine'.”

“Can I just… have some space? Please?” Seb asks quietly.

Dragoslav purses his lips. He turns to look over his shoulder. “Gosia, what are you thinking?”

The young woman eyes Sebastian critically then flounces away from the bed. “I'm fetching the Miss.”

“No! No!” Sebastian protests. “I already got in trouble yesterday...”

“You are not getting in trouble for sickness,” Drago says.

“I'm not sick,” Seb insists.

“Then why do you look pale?” the chambermaid, Gosia, asks.

“That is a rather personal question,” Sebastian says.

She gives him an unimpressed look.

Seb sighs. “I'm not sick; I just… didn't get much sleep, alright?”

The servants exchange looks. They heard plenty last night.

“You are needing strength,” Dragoslav declares. “Eat now, then rest.”

Sebastian is losing the strength to argue. “Drago...”

“Is fine; I carry you,” the large Serbian declares. He scoops up Sebastian before the blond can protest.

The younger man is more surprised at being lifted than at Dragoslav's strength. Dragoslav is solid muscle beneath his loose-fitting suit, and radiates heat in a way that feels both discomfortingly intimate and oddly comforting. Seb can feel the long-suspected gun holster strapped near Drago's heart; it wrinkles Dragoslav's shirt at the ribs and the gun itself juts against Sebastian's torso. 

Sebastian wonders whether Professor Moriarty is important enough to have state-sponsored bodyguards; surely not? And yet Dragoslav seems entirely unfazed by Seb's proximity to the lethal weapon, as though carrying a handgun was a perfectly English thing to do.

Seb wonders – not hardly for the first time- whether Drago is indeed Professor Moriarty's valet, and what exactly Jim does that necessitates the odd cast that make up the big house's servants.

The supposed valet carries Sebastian to the dining table blatantly oblivious to the blond's thoughts. The head of the table and the space to its right are set for breakfast; only Seb's plate is empty.

Jamie looks up from her meal with raised eyebrows that speak volumes.

Not looking at her, Dragoslav exchanges brief, silent communication with a footman who pulls out Sebastian's chair. Drago sets the blond down and steps back unobtrusively. Finally meeting Jamie's gaze, the Serbian gives a small bow and retreats.

Sebastian swallows. Drago's abrupt handling has managed to clear Seb's head a little of his worries regarding earlier with Jim, but Jamie already looks in a sour mood and her lips are curled in unkind amusement.

Sebastian nods at her warily and takes his seat.

“Your food will be cold,” Jamie says.

Sebastian glances at her mostly cleared plate. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he mutters.

She tilts her head regally. “I dare say the blame is shared with my brother.”

Sebastian swallows and leans to the right as a footman gets a bit too close with a cloth serviette.

Jamie's expression turns from jesting to shrewd, as it often does. “Don't tell me you've upset his temper again already?” she drawls. A flash of her mean humour returns as she asks, “Is he jealous of your relationship with his Drago?”

Sebastian glances up then quickly back at the gleaming white of his empty plate.

Jamie stares at his forehead for a beat then gestures for the staff. “He'll eat now.”

Sebastian is uncertain about risking a conversation with the beautiful blonde. Instead he pretends to be interested in the food put before him. Seb is surprised at the steam which still rises from his eggs; he surely spent too much time in the shower for the food to have kept warm by itself. Sebastian wonders whether the kindness is that of a servant, or whether Jamie is in a more charitable mood than she looks.

“How is it?” she asks.

“Good,” Sebastian responds without trying it. He carves out a forkful and feels his nerves steady marginally as he starts to eat. He's hungry.

“And how are you?” Jamie asks. She blinks at him in that poker-faced way that often seems so telling in its blankness. “You seem to be having no issue with sitting down.”

Sebastian's ears turn pink. “You were generous yesterday.”

Jamie snorts. “Given how you were squealing at the time I don't believe you thought my correction generous at all.”

Seb focuses on his breakfast in the hopes it will distract him from allowing a swift surge of blood to his hot cheeks. “I'm grateful,” he says quietly.

“Then why don't you look happy?” Jamie asks astutely.

Sebastian flinches but does not dare look up into the woman's clever gaze. “Just embarrassed, s'all,” he mumbles. “Maybe tired.”

Jamie clicks her tongue. Seb tenses at her evident, sudden displeasure.

“Come here,” Jamie barks.

Sebastian pushes back his chair at once and crosses the small distance to her side. He shuffles nervously in his pyjamas.

Jamie snatches up his wrist. It looks especially golden in her pale hand. She squeezes and asks, “Do you think it's a good idea to tell me lies, Basher?”

Sebastian pales, flushes, then shakes his head swiftly. “I-”

Jamie tugs Seb's arm, pulling him forward at an awkward angle. He understands the position instantly and winces in nervous anticipation.

Jamie spanks the seat of his pants once, hard. The noise of the humiliating slap rings out in the large room as though to alert any servant who had not seen Sebastian just get bent over and smacked like an errant child.

“Don't you tell me lies, Sebastian Moran,” Jamie warns. She is still gripping his wrist tightly.

Sebastian takes a deep breath. “I'm fine,” he mumbles.

The second smack makes the young man hiss with discomfort and mild distress. The blow itself is stinging; whilst his bruised bottom can accommodate a dining chair it soundly protests a fresh spanking.

“Don't waste my time,” Jamie scolds. She releases his arm. “Sit down and explain yourself.”

Seb straightens gingerly. His cheeks are red and he avoids looking in the direction of anyone present. It's uncomfortable to sit down, and it's even harder to think what to say.

“Did Jimmy scold you this morning?” Jamie asks.

“No. Well… not… Not in a bad way,” Sebastian answers quietly.

Jamie looks at him and seems to understand something even if Seb can barely get his words out, never mind his actual emotions. He feels a small surge of fondness for her.

“Are you still upset about yesterday?” Jamie asks.

“I don't know,” Sebastian replies honestly.

“Did you and Jim discuss that this morning?”

“Not really,” Sebastian says quietly.

Jamie is uncharacteristically patient. She asks, “What, then?”

Seb shrugs and reaches for his fork. “Sex, I guess.”

“And yet your miserable face suggests it's not the orgasm ban which is upsetting you,” Jamie states astutely.

“I'm not miserable,” Sebastian says quickly. He looks up. “I'm not. What are we doing today? Want me to please you?”

“You don't deserve to taste me,” Jamie says, and Seb's stomach flips at her tone. She continues, “You'll be at my side all day, or across my lap, or in the furthest corner.”

Sebastian pushes his food about his plate. “Is it okay to ask for a spanking?” he asks.

Jamie gives him an oddly victorious look. “It is,” she says, “but that's not what you need, is it?”

“I don't know what I need,” Seb admits. He clenches his fingers under the table, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

“That's alright,” Jamie says. “You have my brother and I to think for you.”


	3. Expiration Dates Are For Snacks

Jamie rises from the table in a crisp movement. Light bounces off of her hair and blouse in a way that makes it seem to Sebastian as though even the daylight recognises that she is the most striking thing in the room.

“Come along,” the American prompts.

Sebastian swallows and pushes back his chair. His roiling stomach has not had sufficient time to digest breakfast, but he's grateful to be able to take the weight off of his tender rump.

Jamie saunters through to the piano wordlessly and reaches for one of the open books on the stand there. She does not wait for Seb's input as she settles on the chair and raises the intricately decorated lid from the keys.

Sebastian sighs as quietly as he dares and accepts he's going to be seated for quite some time after all. He lowers himself down gingerly at the woman's side.

Jamie goes through scales with the distant expression she gets whenever she is tuning an instrument. Seb watches her beneath lowered lashes. There are not many moments when Jamie's expression is anything as close to unguarded like this. 

He wonders whether a professional piano tuner ever comes to ensure the instrument plays as precisely as Jamie likes. She's not generally one for getting her hands dirty with anything other than paint, but Sebastian has seen her open up the Balliol piano and adjust it by hand and ear. Seb's never been a natural musician like that. He's experienced enough to hear jarring mistakes but subtleties in tone and touch are lost on him. Musically, at least.

When Jamie's focus becomes surgical it fascinates Sebastian, but rarely more so than when it is not directed at him and he is safe to watch her. Once satisfied, the woman nods and strokes the piano almost as though it is a well-behaved young man.

Jamie glances quickly to Sebastian at her side. The blond lowers his gaze even more swiftly and hopes his odd surge of jealously following her sensual movement of her fingers on the instrument was not easily read from his face.

“It's been a while since we played together,” Jamie says.

Sebastian nods slowly and flexes his fingers. “I haven't played since the last time in the music room.”

“You've been busy studying,” Jamie says. It almost sounds like praise, or reassurance, or something that is not a jibe at his expense. Seb wonders whether he has missed an insult somewhere.

He grazes his fingers over the keys.

“Do you miss the Steinway?” he asks.

Jamie's lips quirk and she looks at him for a beat. “Why would I?”

Sebastian feels stupid and answers only because it is preferable to an embarrassed silence. “It was a lovely old thing. Lots of history.”

Jamie looks pointedly at the elaborate detailing of the inlaid design of gold and mother of pearl before them both. She looks back at Sebastian and quirks a pale brow.

Seb stares at the keys awkwardly. The piano is polished to such a high gloss it almost looks like there is an extra set of them. “I just meant it's been played with by so many people,” he says.

“You find that charming, do you, Basher?” Jamie says. The way she says it makes Sebastian feel like she has made a joke about his former profession somehow.

“Has this been in your family for a long time?” Sebastian asks instead.

“It's been in other families for a long time,” Jamie says. He tone has changed; the coolly honeyed voice as mercurial as always.

Seb has to fill the large, quiet room with something, and the sheet music Jamie set open is not a duet he ever leads. He ventures, “Did you learn to play at boarding school then?” 

Jamie's back straightens a little abruptly. She gives him an oddly perplexed look then shakes her head. Her hair falls about her shoulders in shining waves as she says simply, “No.”

Sebastian gives up trying to talk. He sends the first few notes of 'Capriccio Espagnole' out into the room. It's a complicated piece, but they know it well, and it eats up uneasy silences. Jamie adds her fingers to the Fazioli keys with a measured smoothness of touch that feels like it should sound so different to his own firm playing. Seb does not doubt that to her, it does.

Sometimes Jamie talks when they play, but not today. Seb fumbles a few times over the trickier parts of the duet but she doesn't make him stop and start over. They play through and then wordlessly they start again, and Jamie guides Sebastian's hands over the difficult parts.

She's an intimidating woman. Seb enjoys when she makes it clear exactly what she expects from him, and there is a pleasure in itself in the warmth of her skin. Jamie's knee shifts as she toes the pedal at their feet and her long thigh presses comfortably against his own. The closeness would short circuit Sebastian's brain were it not for the need to keep playing. His heart races but his mind calms. 

Sebastian feels better somehow when Jamie eventually signals that she has tired of their amusement. His breathing is deep and his thoughts are clear. 

Seb stretches mutely as the tall woman stands. She pets his hair with mildly fond tolerance and Seb smiles up at her.

“Good boy,” Jamie says.

Sebastian blinks in surprise. She is not easy with her praise.

Jamie ignores his response and glances at a clockface decorated in a similar style to the piano. “I need to take a quick meeting with one of the estate stewards shortly. Do you think you can sit nicely whilst I conduct some business, or should I take you up to the old nursery and have one of the maids mind you?”

“Depends whether you can contain your habit of slapping me whenever you've got an audience,” Sebastian quips.

Jamie snatches his hair and he grins warily. “Am I to take that as humorous?” she asks crisply.

“You could take me,” Seb suggests.

Jamie sighs and pushes him away disparagingly. “Do you think that's all you're good for?”

Sebastian turns to better examine her face. “Well it's not like you keep me around because I can run, or shoot, or write essays, is it?” he says softly.

“Do you think your pert ass is enough to keep both our attentions?” Jamie asks ominously.

Seb's stomach jolts and churns at the suggestion. He's spent plenty enough time in a cold sweat over that question already.

Jamie tugs on his curls. “Don't hurt yourself trying to think,” she says. “Follow me.”

Sebastian holds in a sigh. He smooths his hair back down nervously and trots after Jamie.

Some maids are setting up a tea service in the sitting room. Jamie does not appear to have an especially warm relationship with the women but they smile at her before curtseying and departing with quiet grace from the room. They barely glance in Sebastian's direction, which he is grateful for. He is perfectly aware that a young man of his years and stature does not typically take tea wearing a set of cartoon character pyjamas at almost four in the afternoon.

Jamie places a hand in the small of Sebastian's back and herds him to an armchair. Mere moments later Biwott arrives with a well-dressed woman in tow.

“Thank you, Uhuru, darling,” Jamie says. The footman bobs his head and leaves.

“Louise, thank you for coming,” Jamie continues to the other woman. “I hope the journey wasn't too dreadful?”

“Oh, no worse than usual. I did managed to get parked nearby for once,” Louise responds mildly. “I hope you've had a pleasant morning?”

Jamie indicates Sebastian. “I've been babysitting. This is Sebastian, who is going to sit quietly and let us talk if he knows what's good for him. Basher, this is Louise Redrow; one of the estate stewards. She's here to keep me abreast of some domestics.”

Sebastian's cheeks turn pink but he inclines his head in the steward's direction. “Good afternoon, ma'am.”

“Nice to meet you, Sebastian,” Louise says blandly. 

Jamie seats the woman to her right. “Weak, yes?”

Louise blinks. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

A china tea set sits on one side of the table.. To its right are three cups, some saucers, and teaspoons. To its left are plates, flatware and tea napkins. Jamie pours the tea half-way to the top and murmurs, “With milk, sugar, or lemon?”

“Just lemon please,” says Louise. She does not seem to mind that this is not already anticipated, although Jamie is already pouring water from a pitcher into the teacup. She places a thin slice of lemon studded with cloves on a saucer with a small fork with splayed tines. She hands these to the steward.

“Basher?” Jamie prompts.

“Strong please. Two sugars,” he responds.

“Bad for your teeth,” murmurs the American, but she fills the teacup three quarters to the brim anyway. With ornate silver tongs she takes two white cubes from the sugar bowl and lowers them into the cup. She gives the sugar a moment to dissolve before stirring the tea gently. The spoon makes no noise in the cup.

Sebastian accepts the tea carefully, glad of the saucer to help him avoiding spilling hot liquid over their fingers.

Jamie arranges her own tea the sits with her saucer in her left hand where it rests on her four spread fingers. She steadies the saucer with her thumb resting on its rim and takes a breath before taking hold of her cup handle. Sebastian takes interest in how she can command a room just by choosing not to speak yet.

Her tea is too hot to drink but Jamie holds it up like a barrier between herself and the vulgarities of doing business. “I believe you put out an advert for a new groom?”

Louise spreads a napkin over her lap. “We've whittled down the responses to a few likely candidates. Do you want to interview them or leave that to the head groom?”

Jamie's teaspoon rests in its saucer behind the cup, facing Seb, with the handle catching the light near the cup's handle. He knows that's where it ought to go, but he is unsurprised that she can hold it there without it falling to the floor. Despite his breeding he has sent many a wet teaspoon flying.

“Let old Greene do it; he knows what I expect,” Jamie says.

Louise nods. “We're also going to need a replacement for McLaren since she's been promoted into Peter Lang's post now that the old boy's retired.”

Jamie considers. “For the Suffolk house? Some of the horses are quite spirited.”

“Quite. Andrews gave me a list of possible candidates.”

Jamie holds out her hand, not putting down her tea, and Louise rushes to hand over the list. Sebastian watches curiously as Jamie Moriarty runs her clever gaze along the names making subtle faces or thoughtful noises at each.

“Angelou?” Jamie asks abruptly.

Louise manages – just- not to flinch. “New. Been helping around the stables whilst she studies. Unusually adept with the biters apparently.”

Jamie makes a non-committal noise. “Get her an interview if any of the other staff will vouch for her.”

Louise nods and makes to take another note, but her hand is slow.

“You're staring,” Jamie says with a smile that isn't a smile.

Sorry. Not what you usually have,” Louise mutters, flustered. In his pajamas Seb does not dare look up, but he doesn't think he wants Jamie to see his expression right now anyway.

Jamie inclines her head back at Sebastian. “Darling, isn't he? Terribly precious when he cries.”

Seb's face flames at once. Jamie smirks at him and turns back to her steward, who tries to compose herself. The conversation returns to business for a few more moments before Jamie twists to gaze at Sebastian in assessment.

“You can ride, can't you?” she asks.

“A bit, if the horse is big enough,” Sebastian says. His cheeks go pink again, as he swallows the urge to say he doesn't much fancy going horseriding on his aching bottom.

Jamie seems to understand his expression at once but does not seem to care. “The French Percheron is what, eighteen hands?” she asks Louise brusquely.

“Er, I believe so,” the woman answers.

Jamie nods slowly. “I might try you on her, Seb. If not, I've a young, roan American one who might suit you.”

Jamie has encroached on his territory before, but she has never taken him anywhere outside of Oxford before. Sebastian is uncertain how to feel about this new development and licks his suddenly dry lips before answering. “If it pleases you,” he says carefully.

Jamie fixes him with another difficult to interpret look. There's something cruelly calculating about her default features but right now her face holds the calm look of a spoilt child manipulating a new toy.

Except it's also a lustful expression, and that gives Seb hope.

Jamie turns back to Louise and conducts a few more pieces of business but doesn't take overlong about it. Before long the estate steward senses her usefulness is becoming limited and finishes her tea politely. Sebastian has been bred to recognise (and despise) ill-mannered servants, incorrect liveries or service, sloppily dished food and any other carelessness in the details that to well-bred people constitute the decencies of living: he can tell that Louise Redrow was similarly educated in how the serving classes ought behave, admittedly from the opposite end of the game, by the way she readies herself to leave the moment Jamie looks restless.

“I think that shall be all for today,” Jamie muses.

Louise gives a tight smile. “You have my contact details if you think of anything else of course.”

Jamie smiles unkindly and rises slowly from her seat. “Of course.”

Louise gathers her things with swift efficiency.

Jamie shoots Sebastian a look. “Basher.”

Sebastian jumps to his feet and thrusts out his hand. “Lovely to meet you,” he blurts.

Jamie's lips spread in mean amusement. Louise looks between them both warily before taking Sebastian's hand and shaking it briskly. “Young man,” she says with uneasy dismissiveness.

“I'll have Uhuru see you out,” Jamie says with a viciously saccharine voice. She sweeps out her pale arm to pull a cord.

Louise Redrow thanks her graciously and trots off with Biwott the instant he comes to claim her. Sebastian watches her retreating back and swallows hard.

Jamie casts him an interested look, her thoughts typically unclear from her face. “What did you think of that?”

Sebastian considers his words carefully. “I don't think she liked me much.”

Jamie blinks. “Oh, she just thinks you're disposable,” she dismisses.

Sebastian tries not to flinch. “Is she wrong?”

Jamie shrugs, not being entirely reassuring. “It depends how long you keep our interest.”

“Thanks,” Seb mumbles.

“Oh, don't pout,” the woman says. “I doubt we'll tire of you before you toddle off to fight for queen and country.”

Sebastian stands where he is and watches Jamie carefully. “How quickly do you usually tire of boys?”

“It varies,” the American says.

“Humour me,” Seb urges.

She eyes him carefully then shrugs flippantly. As ever there is a regal shape to her shoulders as they rise and dip, but her face holds an odd expression. “A few months,” she says.

Sebastian swallows. His heart feels louder than anything else in the quiet room. It's already been that for him.

“Have you finished your tea?” Jamie asks brusquely.

Sebastian eyes his cup. “Yes.”

Jamie sweeps her arm out lazily. He knows she's not feeling lazy at all, it's as false as many of her actions, words and expressions, but he has no idea what she really feels. He never does. She tells him, “Go relieve yourself then join me in my studio. I have use of you for a few hours.”

Seb considers questioning what he ought do if his bladder isn't interested, but he knows sitting for Jamie can be a long time spent in an uncomfortable position. He nods and lets himself out from under her perplexing gaze.

Jamie's footsteps don't signal her exit from the room until Sebastian is already halfway up the giant staircase. He does not dare look back to see what she is doing. She could be conversing with other fae for all he knows.

Jamie is setting up paints when Sebastian returns. There are large, wet blobs of burnt umber and raw sienna amidst smaller portions of white, red, yellow and blue on a thick sheet of glass already marked with various layers of acryllic.

She intends to paint skin then. Good. Sebastian would rather not be captured in his ridiculous little boy's pyjamas on the large canvas she has prepared. “How do you want me?”

Jamie dips a knife into a jar of olive green and smears out some colour before looking up. She gazes at him without paying attention to him – Jamie's gaze fixes analytically on the way the light falls upon the blond's skin.

“Over there. Strip and turn your back to me,” she says then wipes her knife. She reaches for a jar of purple.

Sebastian nods knowing that although she is not looking Jamie will still notice somehow, then moves to obey. It's cool in the room but not cold, and Seb is glad of that as he pulls off his pyjama top.

He hears her open a jar, place aside the lid, cut into the paint, and draw the wet material across her glass pallet, the sail of the knife making a distinctive noise as it grazes over uneven edges of dried paint already present.

The room smells faintly of white spirits and drying paintings.

Sebastian reaches for his waistband. “You want my pants off or just my bottoms?”

“Both,” Jamie answers. He hears her walk towards him and there is a loud, distinct _click_ as she switches on an oil heater for his comfort. Sebastian smiles and pushes down his clothing. Sometimes she likes him to be cold, so the small gesture makes him feel cosseted. With her particularly confusing mood today, and his not-argument with Professor Moriarty earlier, Seb appreciates all the nurturing he can get.

He gasps as he hears something cut through the air and flinches in surprise as something strikes his buttocks.

A riding crop.

“Really?” he mumbles, glancing around and giving her a wry, mildly aggrieved but mostly aroused look.

Jamie swipes at him again. The movement is seemingly effortless and entirely pointed. Sebastian moans softly and holds his ground.

“Did I ask you to speak?” Jamie asks haughtily.

“Did I ask to get spanked on my bruises?” Seb pouts back, not displeased at all. Even being hurt a little means being the focus of the captivating woman's attention, and he really wants that right now.

He's still not feeling so secure.

Jamie laughs mockingly and whips him quickly in a whistlestop tour of his sensitive areas. “What are you for if not my amusement?” she comments.

Sebastian swallows. He doesn't want to think about that too carefully. 

His nerves sing out at her sharp touch. 

She strikes him a little more forcefully. “Are you paying me due attention, Basher?”

He yelps and twists to look at the beautiful woman. “I'm your toy,” he mutters.

That only makes her frown softly. She steps forwards and grips his chin. The air feels thick with the words she draws in breath to say, but then she breathes out and shakes her head. She hands Sebastian the crop.

He looks down at it dumbly.

“Need I draw you a map to your heiney, young man?” Jamie asks.

Sebastian feels perplexed but is uncertain why. “You want me to smack myself with this?”

“Is this unfathomable to a boy who sold his body for money?” Jamie asks with a raised brow.

“Who decided that was past tense?” Sebastian mutters softly.

Jamie snatches his curls. “I'll pretend I did not hear that,” she snaps as he winces.

“Fine, fine; I don't ask questions,” Seb says.

Jamie roughly lets his hair go and leans close to his ear. “You make a joke like that again and I won't just wash your mouth out, Basher; I'll tell your daddy.”

Sebastian rubs his scalp. “I don't see why either of you would care,” he mumbles.

Jamie gives him a mildly insulted look and stalks back towards her easel. “Just put some marks on your ass,” she snaps.

Sebastian sighs and reaches around to judge how to angle the crop. Jamie picks up a broad brush and swathes streaks of colour across the canvas in the abstract shape of Sebastian's muscular back.

The folded leather brushes Seb's skin. Fluttering bloodflow trickles from his tummy to his groin in small flurries.

He hits himself.

Jamie says nothing. He can hear her mixing paint, the soft whisper of dry bristles as they are better coated in pigment. The big brushes only make that noise at the start, before they are heavy with paint or water, and the smaller brushes barely make the noise at all. He rarely hears them over the soft crackle and pop of the heater acclimatising to itself.

Sebastian crops himself again.

“We don't share,” Jamie snaps, more to the canvas than anything else.

Sebastian doesn't dare ask what happens if one of them tires of him. He spanks himself harder, and gasps at the sting, shifting his footing a little.

Jamie leans out from behind the easel. “Do not even think of touching yourself. You know the rules.”

Sebastian really is not sure he does. His gaze searches out the mess he tried to clean from the floor. Seb swings his arm again and again. His toes wriggle reflexively.

Jamie paints mutely for a while before speaking over the swish-crack of the crop. “Don't break your skin.”

Sebastian swallows. There was an unsettling sliver of empathy in the ethereal woman's tone. “Why?”

“Because my brother is likely to want to use you tonight,” Jamie answers crisply. She disappears behind her easel again.

Sebastian considers, then strikes himself again.

“I said to stop!” Jamie exclaims sharply.

“I don't know if I want to,” Seb says. His heart is pounding hard in his chest.


	4. I Can Quiet My Tell-tale Heart Or My Troublesome Tongue, But Not Both

The front door slams loudly enough to be heard throughout much of the house. It's later than Jim usually returns home these days and Sebastian feels an uncertain flutter of nerves at the break from routine.

Often Professor Moriarty makes his presence known by silkily announcing, 'Daddy's home!' Today instead the dark creature storms through the hallway, throwing his coat at his staff without a glance in the man's direction, and loudly, ominously declares, “I was fifty-seven minutes late to work this morning, brat! You do remember my promise?”

Sebastian swallows.

Jamie looks at Seb. Hard. He does not understand the complex, seemingly warring intricacies of her expression. “We are in here, brother dear!” she calls out.

Sebastian stays silent except for perhaps his heart which seems to be pounding unreasonably loudly.

Professor Moriarty enters the room. His gaze falls upon his beautiful sister first, and the devil must be able to read something more in her expression and posture than Seb can, because Moriarty immediately turns towards the younger man.

Sebastian's stomach knots itself.

As he quickly crosses the room towards Sebastian, Moriarty states,“You brute, what have I said about breaking my toys?” The Irishman's tone sounds as though it is aiming for dry and playfully reproachful, but something is off about it.

Seb startles as the dark-haired professor takes hold of his blond-stubbled jaw to assess the damage. Between them the Moriarty siblings have given Sebastian no small amount of bitten lips and face slaps, but today's marks are something new.

“I didn't break anything that did not ask to be broken,” Jamie says. Her tone is carefully constructed laziness.

Professor Moriarty's fingers chill Sebastian's tender skin. “I thought we established Sebby's death would be by a thousand cuts, not trauma by a blunt object?” he drawls. He is not looking at his sister. He is looking at the marks on Sebastian's face.

“The greedy boy literally begged me for it,” Jamie says.

Moriarty seems to move abnormally slowly for a moment before blinking with unusual deliberation. He focuses his dark gaze on more than Sebastian's wounds finally. 

The blond actually feels his pupils dilate with a sudden increase of fear. “I… I've had worse,” Seb mumbles.

Jamie gives him a sharp look from across the room. “I could have fractured your cheekbone, poppet, but I'm the one who has to look at you.”

“If anyone is going to fracture his wretched little face it shall be me,” Moriarty says coolly. His fingertips press into Seb's sore face enough to cause a little pain. 

Sebastian does not dare shift away from the uncomfortable touch. His expression must betray his uneasiness anyway.

The supernaturally dark eyes flash. “Oh? Do you have something to say about the matter, Se- _bast_ -ian?”

Sebastian's mouth is dry. Fresh perspiration stings the broken skin of his back. He shakes his head just enough to tighten Moriarty's grip. Seb enjoys the firmness of the touch even as it makes him wince. He feels owned; wanted… safer than this morning.

“Now you're just being rude,” Professor Moriarty scolds, as though he can't easily read all of Seb's thoughts anyway. The Irishman seems marginally mollified by Sebastian's wide-eyed, naked adoration but there remains mostly tension and tetchiness in the professor's tone and posture.

Sebastian tries to lift his chin just a little. The paler man's hand allows the motion, following as Seb exposes his throat. “You… want to… uh… punish me, Daddy?”

Professor Moriarty makes a disgruntled noise. “Did you leave me any skin to mark, you little tart?”

He reaches for Sebastian's dark pyjama shirt and undoes it one-handedly. Moriarty keeps ahold of Seb's chin so firmly it puckers the young man's thick lips and Sebastian notices the bony fingers have thawed from his own heat.

Sebastian winces as Professor Moriarty yanks the shirt open to the shoulder. The devil raises his brows but seems unsurprised at the exposed pattern of broken and bruising skin. He lets go of Seb's mouth.

Sebastian feels flustered by the loss.

“Stand up,” Moriarty drawls.

Sebastian stands at once. The professor gives him a pointed look and Seb scrabbles at the rest of his buttons. It hurts to pull the shirt past his wrists but Sebastian drops the thing to the floor obediently.

Jamie stands and crosses over to her brother's side. She has showered after the undertaking in her studio and her fresh silk robe gapes open at the neck, showing off the pale, unmarked skin of her bare shoulders.

Moriarty does not turn around but tilts his head slightly towards her in recognition of his sister's presence.

“You might as well take off the rest, Basher,” Jamie says. “It's no secret that Jimmy's salivating to see you like this.”

Sebastian's gaze flickers uncertainly to Professor Moriarty. The tan young man's hands go to his waistband but hover there in wait.

Moriarty gives his sister a bristly look. “If I'm going to get off on a beaten boy it will be one I've whipped myself,” he rebukes.

Jamie rolls her eyes unrepentantly but not without a wary respect to her posture. “He's marked now; you might as well enjoy him.”

“Bored of him now, are you?” Moriarty retorts. Neither sibling misses the flinch Sebastian tries to suppress.

“Not remotely, and neither are you, if your sour temper is anything to go by,” Jamie comments. She bends and kisses her brother's cheek. “I'll give you your privacy. Don't kill him.”

The Irishman gives her a droll look and deigns not to reply.

She tuts and sashays towards the door with a slightly swifter step than usual. “My, we are in a sulk, aren't we?”

“Unless you wish me to choke you on the crop you doubtlessly broke on our pet's back I suggest you find somewhere else to be, my sweet,” Moriarty says.

“His thighs,” Jamie says. “Such a delicious noise.” She leaves the room.

Professor Moriarty looks Sebastian up and down. The younger man feels terribly exposed and embarrassed to be thrilled about that. Most of his body is welted, cut or bruised and he feels comforted by that despite the logical assertion that this makes him more vulnerable.

“I had plans for how I intended to use you tonight, Se- _bast_ -ian,” Moriarty states.

Sebastian lifts his deferentially lowered gaze to the smaller man cautiously.

“Fifty-seven minutes, young man,” Moriarty growls softly. “You know what I said I'd give you for every minute I was late, don't you?”

Sebastian's hands twitch with the instinct to cover his entertained arousal but he forces himself to keep himself exposed under the intimidating man's watchful gaze. “You'd smack me, sir,” Seb says quietly.

“Turn around,” Moriarty orders.

Sebastian breathes in and quickly obeys.

Moriarty's gaze burns as it assesses the damage done to the younger man's skin. “You've had a few bruising punishments before, but I doubt you're going to manage nearly sixty swats on the pretty mess you've made of yourself; would you agree?”

Sebastian sucks in his lower lip nervously and gazes warily over his shoulder at the professor.

Moriarty reaches out and slaps Seb's rump harshly enough to make the big man gasp in genuine pain. “No?” the brunet prompts.

“Yes, Daddy!” Sebastian answers quickly.

Moriarty makes a performance of walking around Sebastian. The blond is almost shaking with nervous exhilaration.

Moriarty slaps him again.

Sebastian whimpers. He can feel precum gathering at the head of his cock.

“That's two,” says Professor Moriarty. “And three.” He slaps at the bruises between the pink handprints he has made; Seb yelps in honest pain. “I very much doubt you'll manage what you're due,” Moriarty says darkly.

Sebastian shifts his weight uneasily. The devil is right and Seb has brought this on himself, but he felt so helpless earlier and he just needed… to be hurt.

Professor Moriarty takes Sebastian's wrist. Dark eyes watch him carefully for a moment, then Moriarty slaps Seb's thigh, avoiding the handprints on the blond's rump. The smack also avoids the worst of the broken skin of Seb's upper legs.

“Four, Se- _bast_ -ian,” says Moriarty.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Seb responds softly. He wonders how many he can take if it means being firmly held and being the focus of attention like this.

The professor gazes at Seb for another beat then strikes the same skin again. Sebastian cries out, but holding Jim's gaze whilst he gets off on the pain is exhilarating.

“Five,” Moriarty says briskly. He sounds almost bored, but yanks Seb's wrist hard. Sebastian staggers forwards a step and the devil crashes his palm off of Sebastian's other thigh. Seb gasps, something in his naval sending shockwaves directly to his bouncing dick.

“Six.” Moriarty reaches up to Sebastian's hair and pulls at the curls firmly enough to be forceful, but not enough to make Seb's blue eyes water.

Moriarty's gaze is electric and predatory. Sebastian almost urges his heartbeat to slow down, because surely anything with killer eyes like that can hear the pounding and _surely_ he's fucked if the devil really does hear how much the attention makes his heart sing.

Moriarty slaps Sebastian's face. Seb doesn't even really notice the devil pull back so swiftly; he only registers the explosion of pain across his cheek and understands the blow retrospectively.

Sebastian feels wetness drip and land upon his upper thighs. His lightly furred quads are uncomfortable in this position but a quick glance down makes Seb twitch again. Strands of his precum join an inverse constellation of bruises and comet-shaped welts upon his golden skin.

“Get upstairs,” Professor Moriarty snarls.

Sebastian almost turns tail and runs before the devil's fingers have even released his crisp curls. Except… there's still that raw, aching, frightened part of him that pushes him to be reckless.

Sebastian licks his suddenly dry lips. He's scared as hell as he squares his broad, bloodied shoulders and responds, “Make me… please...”


	5. Why Would I Argue With A Jealous Devil When I Am The Bigger Man?

Moriarty raises his dark brows above an even darker expression. Sebastian's insides clench with terror at his own foolish daring, but his prick also twitches too.

The devil pushes closer into Seb's personal space. Moriarty is breathing heavily but Sebastian cannot tell if that is from arousal or anger.

“You little fool,” the professor says ominously. “Do you have no sense of self preservation at all?”

Seb trembles. He wants to reach out to the older man's tie and draw Jim closer. Sebastian wants to stammer apologies and explain he only wants the brunet closer, wants to be touched and overpowered and owned and _reassured_ , but the blond says none of that. His entire body aches but Sebastian welcomes the possibility that Professor Moriarty will hurt him harshly and block out anything else in Seb's brain.

“This is your only chance, Se- _bast_ -ian,” Moriarty snarls. “You obey me when I direct you, or I shall _skin_ you. It is _not_ your place to challenge _me_ , little boy. _You_ do as _I_ say, or you shall suffer for it. There is no other way around.”

“Y-Yes, sir,” Sebastian whimpers. He wants to dive against the devil's chest and nuzzle in promising obedience, but he is sore, and afraid, and there's no way he can get closer without smearing himself on Moriarty's tailoring.

“Get. **Upstairs**!” Moriarty roars.

Sebastian turns tail and runs.

His heart is pounding by the time he reaches the bedroom. He can hear Moriarty's soft tread upon the old staircase and Seb's whole body screams with the threat of it. Sebastian feels hyperaware of himself: his soft panting feels as deafening as the erratic, heavy boom of his pulse in his ears, and his lips are bloodied and dry. Above them is the taste of salt on his upper lip from the panicked sweat caused by Seb's earlier bravery evaporating. The young man's fingers are trembling and he flexes them as he lingers in the doorway of Professor Moriarty's bedroom.

Sebastian knows he is expected to enter, but he is uncertain what to do next. Should he get on the bed, or is that too presumptuous? Should he kneel and offer his mouth, or will he seem too easy with his body? Moriarty seems almost adjacent to jealous in the current strength of his irate possessiveness. Perhaps Sebastian should offer to take the other fifty blows, or more, but he is dubious he could take them all admirably, much less seem to enjoy them.

“I did not say to wait,” the professor rebukes. He smoothly covers the space between their bodies and raises his pale hand to thrust Seb beyond the doorway.

Sebastian whirls around at the touch. His flinch is not related to his bruised and bleeding flesh. Seb's eyes roll with anxious indecisiveness as he fails to determine how best to position himself within the bedroom.

A strange look washes over Moriarty's expression. He reaches up to Sebastian's stiff, yet damp with sweat, curls. The devil pulls down with a steady purposefulness.

“Must I direct you in every little thing, Se- _bast_ -ian?” Professor Moriarty lilts.

Sebastian's floundering heart slows enough that he can hear over its frantic pounding. All he can see is the white of Moriarty's shirt, the dark gleam of the devil's patterned tie, and the pressed crease down dark suit trousers that in a more fanciful time Seb might imagine ought cut him were he bent over them.

Dimly Sebastian recognises the alluring scent of Professor Moriarty's cologne. Through a fog of too much stimuli Sebastian croaks, “Please… sir...”

The devil breathes deeply enough that his tie slide catches the light. Seb squeezes his eyes shut briefly. He opens them upon hearing the professor's musical brogue harden.

“Stay off of my bed. You'll bleed on it.”

“Y-Yes, sir!” Sebastian tells the dull metal edge of Moriarty's belt buckle.

“The chair by the fireplace. Kneel there,” the Irishman decides. He pulls at Seb's curls a little only to push Sebastian forward firmly enough that the young man staggers slightly. “Go.”

Sebastian moves so quickly the cool touch of the flooring against his shins comes as a surprise. He remains kneeling stiffly upright rather than sinking onto himself given the state of his thighs and arse, but the abused skin aches anyway.

Professor Moriarty observes Seb ominously for a beat then approaches silently. He slips past Sebastian onto the chair.

The young man looks at Moriarty's trouser legs and wonders whether it is permissible to look up.

The devil snatches at Seb's curls again and pulls Sebastian's head against his lap. Moriarty pets Seb with terse little movements that seem intent on both soothing Sebastian as well as expressing irritation.

Seb noses his tender face speculatively further up the devil's inseam.

Professor Moriarty pulls Sebastian away at once. “No,” the pale man says darkly. “Just sit.”

“I want to please you,” Sebastian says. “I owe you-”

“Hush,” Moriarty says sharply. “I did not give you permission to talk back.”

Seb's mouth falls open. “I wasn't- _ow_!”

“Must I remove your tongue by force?” the professor asks. He slackens his tightened grip on Seb's hair.

“I'm sor- _umph!_ ”

“You are typically a swifter learner than this, Se- _bast_ -ian,” Moriarty comments coolly.

Sebastian swallows. He nods meekly and remains silent.

“Better,” the Irishman says. His fingers are firm against Seb's scalp, seemingly grounding the blond with their petting. Sebastian does not dare flash a soft smile upwards at the devil but the slow spread of his lips against Jim's thigh is not missed.

“Now, let's see what other commands you are capable of following this evening, shall we?” Moriarty says. “Remove my shoes, Se- _bast_ -ian.”

Seb blinks. He regretfully pulls away his scalp from the comforting, pale hand and bows to complete the task. It feels a little degrading to do this, particularly given his nude, sore state, and that makes Seb's stomach flip a little.

He briefly, daringly, presses a kiss upon the devil's instep then pulls away warily.

Moriarty neither scolds nor encourages, but his voice sounds a fraction sunnier as he asks with playful sternness, “Where do my shoes reside, young man?”

Sebastian's stammered answer is met with a raised eyebrow. “Put them away,” Moriarty prompts. He unknots his tie as Seb scurries backwards with the shoes.

Moriarty holds out his closed fist upon Sebastian's return. Seb reaches out warily and the warm weight of cufflinks drop into his sweating palm.

“You are aware where those go,” Moriarty says.

Sebastian has indeed watched the dark-haired devil put such trinkets away many a time. Sebastian watches Moriarty begin to roll up his white shirtsleeves then darts away to store the cufflinks.

Seb gives the professor an attentive look upon his return. He would rather not kneel again only to have to stand right after – the movement stretches his broken skin uncomfortably.

Professor Moriarty slides off his tie and wraps it around Sebastian's throat. He tugs the young man by his ruby-mottled, golden neck nearer to the chair.

Sebastian swallows as his cock twitches delightedly.

“Do you think anything disposable is any less mine?” Moriarty asks suddenly.

Sebastian judders and looks up with startled, hurt, achingly hopeful eyes.

“Little fool,” Moriarty says as he toys with an end of his tie against Seb's fevered skin. 

Sebastian quivers. His skin is raw and aching but it is desperate for the devil's touch. _He_ is desperate for the touch.

“Mayhaps you misunderstood the terms under which I share you,” Professor Moriarty growls quietly. “It would be remiss of me not to better educate you.”

Sebastian leans so close the tie falls slack. “Please...” he whispers.

Moriarty slaps the young man sharply across the face. It's not the harshest blow the brunet has ever given Seb, but it hurts enough that Sebastian's rushing mind momentarily quietens.

“I told you not to speak,” Moriarty states.

Sebastian stays obediently silent between the devil's knees. Dark eyes wash over him critically, cataloguing the marks and things left unsaid.

Seb feels uneasiness creep back out of his bones. He looks up at the older man beseechingly. 

Moriarty stays quiet. The flare of his nostrils and the tension in the air suggests he is becoming increasingly angry.

Anxious tears prick Sebastian's eyes. Seeking reassurance, he reaches up towards the professor's torso.

White fingers snap around Seb's marked wrist. The tightness makes Sebastian wince, but the dark flash of the devil's eyes smothers the blond's flinch. Sebastian's face throbs.

“Am I too soft on you, little one?” Professor Moriarty asks cuttingly. “Is that why you provoke me so?”

Seb keens softly. His blue eyes are pleading, but he is uncertain what he is aching to ask for.

Moriarty drops Sebastian's wrist coolly and sneeringly unfastens his trousers. “You want to be used and hurt, little boy?”

Seb's gaze flutters. The usual playfulness had bled from the devil's voice and it frightens him.

“No?” Moriarty asks. “Shall I call Jamie to the room, is that what you want? She can stripe you some more then bend you over my bed for the fucking you are so desperate for?”

Tears squeeze from Seb's eyes. “I wasn't trying to make you angry! Not- not like this! I know I push you sometimes – a lot- but – but… I truly wasn't- I was upset… Please! Don't be cross-”

Moriarty yanks Sebastian by his tie. “Have I finally scared you, little boy?” the devil asks ominously.

Sebastian shakes his head, feeling frustrated with his juvenile waterworks. “Let me make it up to you!” he pleads. “Hurt me, use me any way you want!”

Professor Moriarty stands and pushes the younger man away dismissively. “I could have that any time I want. Why should I waste my time taking you when I could have any other eager bitch?”

Sebastian feels dizzy with panic. He cannot breathe or think; he can barely see. He sways as he forces himself to his feet desperately. “Because I-”

Both men freeze as Sebastian hurriedly swallows the dangerous words.

Moriarty stares at Sebastian hard. Seb stammers and tries to apologise, but the Irishman storms towards the doorway instead. He starts to fasten his clothing.

Sebastian feels everything good fall away from his grasp. “Jim!” he exclaims rawly.

The devil stops walking. Moriarty tilts his head in eerie contemplation and Seb feels his heart in his throat.

Professor Moriarty whirls around. He unfastens his trousers and thrusts them down as he strides towards Sebastian. He grabs the blond fiercely, uncaring of the crop-marks, and drags Sebastian towards the bed.

Seb cries out as teeth find his neck and he is forced chest-down onto the mattress.

“I'll share, but when you're mine you're fucking _mine_ ,” Moriarty snarls.

“M'sorry!” Sebastian whimpers. He arches into the touch despite the pain. “I'm sorry...”

“I don't care,” the Irishman says. “You want to be _my_ fucktoy, you little slut, then I don't care about how you _feel_.”

Seb's heart pounds. His cock thrills at the assertion of dominance, but a fresh ache in his chest protests.

“From now on,” Moriarty snarls, “if I have plans with you, you do not let shagging my sister get in the way-”

“I didn't sleep with her!” Sebastian protests. He yelps as the devil slaps his bruised and bleeding arse, hard.

“I don't care what you do, so long as I can use you when I want to,” Moriarty barks.

Sebastian experiences a brief moment of utter insanity and twists around, throwing the smaller, older man underneath him. Seb's heart hammers erratically as he looks down in terror at the devil he has just pinned to the bed.

“You're a liar,” Sebastian whispers.

Moriarty's teeth show and he raises his hand sharply.

Sebastian catches the pale wrist before he is struck. “You know what I want,” Sebastian whimpers.

“You have ten seconds to get off of me, Se- _bast_ -ian Moran,” the devil warns terrifyingly.


	6. 'Get Out' Is Not Actually A Synonym For 'Don't Leave The House'

Sebastian stares down in frozen horror at the deadly flash of anger in Jim Moriarty's eyes, then the young man scrambles backwards. Seb's heart hammers both with the terror of his own daring and of its repercussions.

Moriarty does not sit up. Still his anger seems to exude a life all its own, rising in waves to tower over them both. “Get out,” he spits coldly.

Sebastian flounders. His mouth feels dry and even if it wasn't he would not know what to say. Still his mouth gapes open, because he must say something to salvage this foolishness.

Moriarty's chest rises and falls and the devil's rage all but crackles from his skin.

“M'sorry,” Seb blurts desperately. “Daddy… Jim… I'm so sorry, I-”

The professor silences Sebastian with a look and sits up. The aura of menace is called back from the ornate ceiling and seems to circle back towards Moriarty's chest as the devil puts a leash on his temper. He's still terrifying. 

“Shut. Up. Get. Out,” Moriarty says. The words are delivered fiercely, but their crispness suggests his dangerous rage is not well-muzzled.

Seb flinches and draws back the supplicating hand he had edged towards the older man in desperation. “I'm _sorry_ ,” Sebastian whines.

Moriarty flies across the bed and snatches up Seb's jaw. He pushes and snarls, “For your own good, little boy, leave. Now.”

Sebastian blinks back tears as his face is freed. He'd much rather be scared and hurting than exiled. “I'll take the punishment, I swear, please, just don't… please, I want to stay...”

Moriarty sighs and twists away with rattlesnake speed. He reaches down the back of the bedside cabinet; Seb's forehead puckers in confusion, then feels more lost still as the brunet pulls out a Beretta and points it at him.

“Daddy's much too livid to punish you, darling, now do as I tell you for once,” Jim says dangerously.

Sebastian swallows. He is tempted to linger even with the barrel staring him in the face, but then Moriarty audibly brushes his pale skin over the safety.

Sebastian stands slowly. His pyjamas are still downstairs, so he treads gingerly towards the wardrobe.

Moriarty makes an irritated noise. “No,” he says, shaking the gun dismissively, “don't get dressed. Just get out.”

Seb gives the devil a wary look. “You want me to trot around Oxford looking like this?”

“No, I want you to get out of my sight, you little tramp,” the professor snaps. He curls his lips and rubs the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Don't leave the house. I don't share,” he says darkly.

Sebastian feels a surge of reckless bravery. He's so full of such moments. “You didn't mind before,” he says rawly.

The Beretta's muzzle wavers, almost lowers and then fixes on Seb with greater accuracy. “I don't mind when you fuck my sister, or when you fucked half the rich men in Oxford,” Moriarty says crisply.

“Then what changed?” Sebastian cries. “You were mad at me this morning too, not just when you got home, that's… I...”

Something snaps: Seb sees it happen but cannot comprehend it. Jim stares right through Sebastian like they don't even share the same reality. He lowers the gun and walks out of the bedroom. “I expect you out of here when I return, but don't leave the house,” he declares.

Seb's fists tremble. He doesn't understand the devil's moods but he hopes he can reach the warm sliver within the Irishman. “You either want me or you don't!” the blond exclaims.

“You don't want an answer to that, little one,” the devil warns.

Sebastian sniffles. He feels stung and reassured all at once. Before he can process that any further he sees Jim turn and look along the corridor.

“Why do I not hear screams?” Jamie asks from the hallway. She audibly steps towards her brother but not quite into Seb's eyeline. “Oughtn't I be hearing violence or carnality by now?”

Moriarty glowers but puts his gun in his waistband. It does not seem to faze his sister. “The boy's feckless,” Jim says. “A calamity. I'm going out.”

Jamie looks him over. Dryly she says, “Don't kill anybody.”

Her brother scoffs. “Why would you think I'll stop at one?”

Jamie rolls her eyes. “Is the kid okay?”

Sebastian steps towards the doorway. “I've barely laid a hand on him,” Jim says. Sebastian does not know how to feel about it.

“That bad, huh?” Jim's sister comments.

“We're not talking about it,” Moriarty says shortly. He glances back at Sebastian, says nothing, then snatches up his shoes. He fixes his clothing jaggedly and heads smartly downstairs in a state of rumpled undress he has never before left the big house in.

“Well,” Jamie says, “that's something new.”

“What is?” Seb asks. He's not sure whether he ought be afraid of the answer.

Jamie dismisses the question but looks him over with a frustratingly, fascinatingly inscrutable expression. “Put some undies on and I'll make you up a guest room,” she says instead.

“What?” Sebastian notices then that he's naked still, and he's not as comfortable unclothed around her as he normally is with her brother, even with all the time he had sat for her in the studio. For once he has no inclination towards awkwardness or arousal. He is lost and uncertain.

“I don't share my bed,” Jamie says, “and Jimmy's not going to be happy if you're tucked in with me whenever he gets home.”

“What did your parents have against teaching you to share?” Seb mutters. “You don't even share an accent.”

“We didn't grow up as a traditional family,” Jamie says dryly. “Underpants, now, or you can go without.”

“Don't the staff ever question what they see?” Sebastian mumbles. “Consider getting a job in a normal place?”

Jamie purses her lips and her long hair falls over her shoulders. “The people we employ are suited to their roles,” she says at last.

“I never hear them talking about me. That's a talent in itself,” Seb mumbles as he turns and opens a drawer.

Amusement rises up in Jamie's throat and colours her voice. “From what I've heard some of them are quite fond of you.”

Sebastian looks over with underwear in hand. “Really?”

Jamie rolls her eyes. “You're peculiarly likeable.”

“It's my arse, isn't it?” Seb says blithely, forcing a playful smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes yet.

Jamie snorts. “You're hardly the first nice arse we've invited over.”

Sebastian still doesn't know how to feel about that. He flexes his arm. “My guns then?”

“Certainly not your brains,” Jamie says, her tongue behind her lips. Her amusement is a rarely unguarded thing and Seb falls in love with her a little bit in that moment. His heart is perhaps a bit desperate for approval after his earlier scoldings from Professor Moriarty.

Jamie leans against the doorframe as Sebastian eases boxers over his broken and bruised body. He's almost tempted by the way the cloth sticks to his cut bum to forego bothering with knickers altogether.

“Do you think he'll still be mad when he comes back?” Seb changes the subject.

“I dare say. He's not known for his kindness,” Jamie says.

Sebastian swallows and pads softly towards the tall woman. “He's mostly kind to me.”

Jamie chuckles. “And the strangest part of that is he's not even grooming you,” she says.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sebastian asks as his stomach flips.

“What do you think it means?” Jamie scoffs.

Seb replies, “Not fucking me for my brains, remember?”

“Of course not, Oxford graduate,” she says, and reaches out to toy with his curls. “No, but you are a little puzzle.”

Sebastian leans into the touch a little pathetically but doesn't care about seeming so open right now. “Why, because I'm so stupid?”

“Not exactly,” Jamie says enigmatically. She drops her petting hand to one of his own and curls her dextrous fingers around his rougher ones.

Sebastian follows her to a bedroom a middling distance between her brother's and Jamie's own. He does not know what to think when she fetches bedlinens.

“What, would you rather I got one of the chambermaids in here?” Jamie asks with a playful flash of teeth.

“I'm surprised you know how to change a bed,” Seb teases.

“Boarding school,” Jamie says. “And if you want to be an officer you had better have mastered crisp corners; come help.”

Sebastian wonders as he steps forward how much the menial task is for his own distraction and how much is for the benefit of Jamie's own restless hands. He is not quite brave enough to ask what will happen when her brother returns.


End file.
